Monday, December 12, 2016

Somewhere Still

I was attending a ladies' event at church tonight when I had to pop out to the car for something I'd forgotten.  I didn't bother grabbing my jacket, just snagged my keys and zipped out.

The moon was full and bright, and the world was covered in a good dusting of fresh snow. Even the air seemed to radiate, clouded only here or there by puffs of smoke from cozy homes.  The tap tap of my shoes echoed loud in the stillness.  Everything was silvery, luminous, snapping cold.

I'd forgotten about that peculiar solitary delight: the sweet crispness of stepping from a bright, warm, full place into the sudden silence and cold of a winter's night.  It's one of those rare feelings that can't be improved upon by sharing; it's at its absolute best in solitude.

I haven't had a lot of solitude the past few months years.
Sometimes I wake up early to find it - sitting with coffee and a pencil and my Bible, immersing my heart in the stillness, in the words and the Word.  Sometimes it steals down on me like a blanket of snow - the kids all fall asleep, my phone is out of reach, and the hush is wide and deep.  And sometimes I borrow it for a few sweet seconds when I forget something in the car, in the moonlight.

Just me ... and Him.

I hope your Christmas holds the gift of solitude, friend.  In the midst of making merry, giving generously, and receiving gratefully, I hope you find yourself somewhere still, taking a deep, gorgeous, solitary breath in His Presence.


Merry Christmas, friends.

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